Miles Garner "Why the fuck am i awake?" Miles wondered as he lay in his own filth. He hadn't taken a shower in over a week, and just recovered from an alcoholic coma. Where was he? It looked like a prison, but he knew that wasn't possible. If he were, he would have already been worked over by the "Boys in Blue". Miles was wanted for three charges of manslaughter, and over twenty-five battery charges. As he pushed the shit off of himself, he stood up. After stumbling to the floor, crushing a bottle of Jack Daniels on impact, he regained balance. "Fuck!" Miles screamed as he pulled the broken bottle out of his palm. "What the fuck is that smell?" Moaned Miles, as he tried to locate the odor. It was coming from a huge pile of blankets in the corner. As the overweight alcoholic walked to the blankets, the stench became more powerful. He slowly bent over to examine the mess. As he unraveled the bundle, he slowly realized what had happened the night before. The mess inside the blankets made a fourth charge of manslaughter. Miss Mandy Kain, a well known prostitute, was wrapped up in the messy pile. Her throat had been slit, and her scull caved in. "Holy shit!" Miles screamed, as he stumbled back knocking into a table. He wasted no time packing his minimal belongings. Miles left the motel room with little remorse. He simply waltzed down the street, humming a tune his father would sing to him. Right before the bastard went to get a pack of cigarettes and never came back. As he waltzed and sang, he came to a tree, with a tire swing. He sat down on the tire and started to sway back and forth. From the pocket of his denim jacket, he took out a very worn flask. He took a swig, "Ugh fuck" Miles proclaimed "Tastes like shit!". After taking another swig, he took out a crumbled piece of paper and pen from his pocket. Miles began to write down all of his crimes, his motel room were poor Ms. Kains' body lay. He wrote down the reasons of his killings, he apologized, but wasn't truly sorry. He heard sirens, far off in the distance. "Those fuckers aren't gonna be the ones to take me out. Im going out on my own terms.". He took out a pocket knife, and cut the tire from the rope. He formed the noose, and tied the other end to the strongest branch. He grabbed a nearby barrel, and stood up on it. The sirens were getting closer. As he put the noose around his neck, he took another swig from his flask. It tasted awful. And with that, he kicked the barrel from under him. That awful whiskey would be his last drink. A shitty drink, to end the shitty #life, of a shitty man. Goodbye Miles Garner, and good riddance.